Moar To Love
by americalovesthecockpit
Summary: England's been gone for a few months and when he finally visits America, he sees that America has really let himself go. He's not just fat. He's OBESE. But England goes on a date and tries to have sex with him anyway, because it's Valentine's Day, aww. USUKUS, crack, fail sex.


Just to be clear in case anyone didn't see the summary, this is about obese!America, with the usual crack, and also some fail sex. Happy Valentine's Day!

Written in America's POV!

X

It was almost Valentine's Day. And I was heartbroken. I YEARNED for that special something I hadn't had the pleasure of enjoying for far too long. _YOU_ KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT ;)

It's been months! You don't know how much I've longed for it, fantasized about it — imagining myself wrapping my hand around the length, my fingers caressing that soft, golden fluffiness surrounding it, bringing it to my mouth, sinking it deep inside, enjoying that distinct, unforgettable taste, until I feel it, the best part, that white cream against my tongue …

Because Twinkies went out of business and have been sold out, you guys! :(

Oh, how I cried. Just ugly, gross sobbing. I mean, I LOVE Twinkies! They are one of my favorite foods, after hamburgers and ice cream and Fruit by the Foot. WHO REMEMBERS THAT? ! YOU UNROLLED IT AND HNNGGGGH SO COOL!

But now Twinkies, and all the other goodies like Ho-Ho's and Ding Dongs and Snoballs and crap were gonna be gone. FOREVAR. I mean sure, some company is bound to buy out Twinkies from Hostess and make moar eventually but COME ON. You know I'm not that patient.

So you know what I did? I bought myself a fryer. And made my OWN dang Twinkies! HA! :D

Which is exactly what I was doing as our wonderful tale begins, boys and girls.

"These are looking gooood," I said as I dipped them things in the fryer. They were like FSSSSSSSH in the batter. Dat smell. SO DELICIOUS.

VRRRRRRRR

"Hehehe," I giggled because my iPhone in my pants was vibrating. The vibrations tickled. I took it out and looked to see who it was. "Oh, it's England."

England just learned how to text like last month, LOL. He always bitched that we didn't talk enough, what with the Cock-Blocking Ocean AKA Atlantic Ocean in between us and all. I was like DUDE JUST TEXT ME, DUHHH! A few years later, he finally figured it out. Now he's been texting me all the time.

"_I managed to catch an earlier flight than I originally anticipated," _said England's text. He hasn't caught on to text speak very well. He never types cool stuff like LOL or OMG or ASL? Okey that last one doesn't make sense for him but does anyone remember ASL? And we'd IM random people on AIM and ask that? And lie every time? … no? Just me? Okey then. I miss the late 90's … :(

"_wen r u getting here then"_ I replied back to him.

"_Today. Probably around 2 or 3."_

"_kewl"_ I wasn't expecting him until Saturday and it was Thursday, so that was indeed kewl. Thursday is before Friday and Saturday comes afterwooords. Rebecca Black taught us that.

England kept texting me, _"I wanted to make sure I was there Valentine's Day, so we could spend the day together, love."_

"Haha, gay," I said as I read his text.

It'd been quite a while since I'd seen England. Like, three months. A whole trimester. I spent Christmas by myself. And New Year's. And Groundhog Day. You know what it's like to go to a New Year's party and the clock strikes midnight and everyone around you is kissing — like gross, GET A ROOM, kinda kissing, ugh don't they know other people are around and you kiss differently when they are? —and you're standing there holding your drink and watching forever alone putting on a poker face to conceal your soul crushing loneliness? :I (It's not very fun.)

I texted back, "_Alright kewl do u need a ride from the airport_"

"_You have no idea how much I've missed you."_ He texted that like one second after I sent mine. We were texting at the same time. A few seconds later, he sent another, "_I've been looking forward to all the things we're going to do together." _A few more seconds then_, "TO each other ;)"_

I'd never seen England use a winky face before.

"_dude r u horny"_

_DING! _My Twinkies were done! WHOOO! I pulled them out of the batter and let them sit. They were all sizzly.

I got another text from England, _"Don't be so blunt. It's more titillating to send subtle messages."_

"_ur the 1 who used a winky face not me"_

"_I'm just excited about seeing you soon. It's been quite a while, as you know. My hand can only last me so long."_

"_LOL thats sudtle?"_

"_Pleasuring myself to only your voice over the phone has become old."_

"_do u need a ride from the airport"_

"_I scarcely remember what you look like naked."_

"_Damnit stop texting at the saem time as me!"_

"_Text me a picture of your cock."_

"_Those 2 dots mean im typing my text"_

"_And arse."_

"_dont send urs if u see teh 3 dots"_

"_I want to see your perky round arse."_

"_WTF thats not sudble at all dude"_

It's so friggin' frustrating when someone keeps texting at the same time as me! GRRR! I hate that. Then I'm rushing to respond to the other thing and so is the other person and ugh. So annoying. I needed to finish this convo before my hands get sticky from eating these Twinkies! I don't want my iPhone screen getting all f'ed up because England won't shut up and I wanna stuff my face.

"_dude i gotta go before my hands get sticky do u need a ride or not" _I texted.

"_My, my. Control your excitement and don't spend yourself before I arrive, love."_

"_wut"_

"_But no, they've already arranged a rental car for my stay."_

"_k see ya"_

"_Send me that picture."_

But ALAS, England was too late. I'd already set my phone down and was scarfing down some Twinkies. HGGGH SO GOOD! I love them Twinks in my mouth. I ate all ten of them, and then was sad that they were gone :( Y'all ever get that feeling? When you have good food, and then you eat it all, and then you are sad that you don't have any more to eat? Don't lie. Y'all know what I'm talking about. It is a TRAGEDY.

But no matter. As I have learned lately since I got this wonderful fryer, you can fry anything. And it tastes GREAT. Doughnuts, fries, chicken — any meat, really! And vegetables, too! They don't taste much like veggies when you slather them in a thick layer of Crisco and battered fat lard crap or whatever that stuff is. Fried pickles were one of my favs! Also OREOS! Everyone loves fried Oreos! Put some confectionary sugar on top, mmmhmm. What else … chittlin's, of course. Oh, COKE. Don't ask me how. But you can and I have. Don't believe me? Go to any state fair in the South. They have fried Coke. Also, fried Kool Aid. I am not making this shit up. It's fo real. And fo real GOOD.

I fried near about every food in my house. It made everything taste so much better. I even accidentally ate Whaley's food because I fried it. He likes krills. I had fried krills.

I was so busy raiding my fridge for stuff to fry, I lost track of time. And soon enough, I heard a knock on the door!

"It's open!" I yelled, because I was busy slaving over my hot fryer. "Come in!"

I heard the door open and shut. "Where are you?" called a Britishy voice.

"In the kitchen!"

I heard footsteps coming my way through the foyer, and then England was in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Why didn't you greet me at the door—oh bloody hell you're fat as fuck."

I went from :D to D:

"What the hell happened to you?" bitched England, his eyes looking up and down my body. He looked a little freaked out for some reason.

I was nomming on my latest fried goodness. "Whaddaya mean?"

"Look at you! All _this_!" He motioned up and down me. And across me. At my … circumference. "Christ, you must have gained nearly fourteen stones!"

Like I know how much that is. LOL metric system.

"It's just a couple pounds," I said, waving him off. "Not a big deal. I'll just work out tomorrow and I'll be back to my regular hot bod in no time!"

England looked … disturbed. He couldn't stop staring at me. And not my face. His eyes never left my body. But in a bad way. He slowly shook his head. "No … no, th-there's no easy way to come back from that."

I waved him off, "Psssh, whatever. I'm not a fatty." As I spoke, I was using one of my hands to look up on my iPhone how much fourteen stone is in American units. "You can hardly even see it, I mean — HOLY SHIT FOURTEEN STONES IS LIKE TWO HUNDRED POUNDS!"

"America." England looked me very seriously in the eyes. "You're obese."

"No!" I shouted. "Noooo! I can't be obeast! NOOOOO!"

"Damn it, you're eating right now as I'm talking to you!"

It was food on a stick. I had the stick in my mouth as I said, all muffled, "Ohmygerd."

"Take that damn corn dog out of your mouth!" England made a grossed out face. "Ugh. Corn dogs are so disgusting. I don't know how you Americans eat them. It's deep fried sausage on a stick."

"It's not a corn dog, DUH!" I said, still nomming on it. "It's a fried stick of butter. On a stick." Stick on a stick. Stick Stickly.

"… the hell? That's not even food!"

"Uhhh, yes it is. If you can get it at the State Fair, it's technically a food." TRUE STORY. Did you know at the fair they have pork parfaits? Yes, really! Everybody loves parfaits. The donkey whatshisname from Shrek told us that. What WAS his name … damn it … this is gonna bug me. Oh yeah. DONKEY. Anyway, they sold fried butter sticks on a stick at the Republican straw poll thing in Iowa so yeah, it's legit. Just like Santorum. And his sweater vests.

Speaking of sweater vests …

(England was wearing one.)

"Jesus, how could you just let yourself go like this?" he bitched. "I mean, this doesn't happen overnight."

"Jeez, I'm not fat! I told you, it's just a couple pounds, they'll be gone in no time, quit bitching about it."

"Have you seen yourself in a mirror lately? ! You're like a goddamn beached whale!"

Whaley, who was in the room, frowned. His feelings were hurt because England said that like being a whale was a bad thing! Nobody ever called Shamu a fatty and told him to go on Atkins, that's for sure. Now I know why Tilikum did what he did.

"There, there, Whaley," I said, consoling him. "Have some more fried krills."

"It's only been three months!" England continued bitching. "How does someone gain fourteen stone in three bloody months? !"

I stepped in front of my fryer so England couldn't see it. "Look, you don't know how much I've gained. It's really not that much!"

"Oh really? Would you get on a scale and prove it?"

"I don't have a scale."

"You said that awfully quickly. I think you're lying."

"H-hey," I said kinda nervously. "You sure changed pretty quickly. What happened to all that stuff about how you can't wait to see me, and you missed me, and wanna see my penis, and all that?"

"Could you even find your damn prick amongst all those fat rolls? !"

Ouch, dude. That was a major burn. If we had a studio audience like in sitcoms, they'd be all like, OHHHHHHHH!

"L-look," I said, "e-even if I was obese — WHICH I'M NOT, I'M JUST SAYING — even if I _was_, what's the big deal? It's just moar to love, right?"

England sighed, and rubbed his forehead. "America …"

"I mean, you like my ass. Well, now it's even bigger."

England did not look amused. He was like -_-

But I could prove to England I could still be sexy even though he thought I was like four hundred pounds! (Though I'm not. That's obese and I am five pounds overweight AT THE MOST. We all pig out and chub up a little from time to time, am I right?) But yeah I could prove it to him! I could be sexy! Anything to change the subject, yeesh …

"Hey, England." I gave him a seductive look. When he was looking at me in the eyes finally (though he looked confused), I brought the butter stick up to my lips. And started to lick it. I slowly, SEXUALLY dragged my tongue from base to tip of that butter stick. When I got to the tip of it, I paid special attention to that part. I flicked my tongue on it. I did it in a way that was very seductive, so please picture it that way. You're picturing it that way, right? Anyway, then I shoved the whole thing in my mouth. I deep-throated that butter stick. I deep-throated the hell out of that thing. With not even the slightest gag. I sucked it down and swallowed it in one big gulp. And it was sexy as fuck.

"What the hell was that?" asked England.

"It was supposed to be sexy," I said. "Didn't you think so? You can't tell me you aren't hard right now."

"I'm not."

"But that was hot! What's wrong with you? Do you have the impotence, old man?"

"You were licking a _stick of butter_," said England like it wasn't a good thing. "_Fried_ butter."

"Yeah, but I licked it like it was a penis!" I protested. "So … yeah."

"You've ruined everything!" England sobbed. Ugh, here it comes. He's so ~EMOTIONAL~ sometimes. Psssh, drama. "I just wanted a nice Valentine's Day! I wanted to come see you, go out and have a nice dinner together, exchange gifts, talk, and catch up, and then have the first fuck I've had in three months! I didn't think that was so much to ask, but apparently so!"

"Hey hey hey!" I said, not unlike Fat Albert. "Who says we can't do those things? I'm up for all that! We can definitely go out to dinner—"

"Oh, you'd definitely love dinner, wouldn't you," he snapped.

"Well, I suppose I walked right into that one."

England sighed, looking away. Like he might cry, but was holding it back. "I … I just don't know, America. This is a lot to take in at once."

"Come on, please?" I begged him. "Gimme a chance! I bet we have a great Valentine's Day, I promise! I'm not fat but even if I was, being fat doesn't affect any of those things!"

England raised an eyebrow. "Really? None of those things?" He said that like it was obvious that one of those things would be affected, for some reason.

"N- … nooo? No, it-it'll be fine."

England didn't look convinced. "Hmm."

"Besides, what else are you gonna do? It's Valentine's Day. Would you rather be forever alone on that night of all nights? Feeling sorry for yourself and crying yourself to sleep and jerking it alone not necessarily in that order because obviously going to sleep would be the last thing I guess?"

England sighed. "I suppose not."

"Kewl."

X

I took England out to a nice restaurant. I told him he could get whatever he wanted, my treat. It's Valentine's Day, after all. Nothing like some fine dining to set the mood, hmm?

You'd think. Yet England was still being a total piss pot. I've never seen anyone look over a menu ANGRILY before! How can you be angry while looking at delicious food? I especially like the menus with pictures on them, as these did.

I glanced over my menu. "What's wrong, England? I took you out to dinner like you wanted."

He glared back at me. "I did not want to go to FUCKING CRACKER BARREL."

"Whaaaat? Cracker Barrel is awesome!"

How could someone NOT like Cracker Barrel? For those of you not privileged to have one near you, well let me enlighten you! They have good, hearty, Southern style dishes. The whole restaurant looks like one big crap shack, and there is a big ol' porch out front with rocking chairs and you can sit out there and rock as long as you like, like an old person! In the restaurant, they have tacky country shit all over the walls, and fireplaces, and you can sit in chairs with strangers and play giant checkers on a piece of carpet. It's totally cool to do that there! Also, they have a super neat-o store in the restaurant where you can buy all kinds of unique things like weasels on a ball or stuffed parrots that record what you say and repeat it back to you. You know, cool stuff!

And England was BITCHING about this place? PSSSSH.

"Do they have any dishes that _aren't _slathered in lard?" asked England, making a face at the glorious menu. "God, even their _vegetables _are covered in butter and cooked with ham hock!"

"But that's what makes them so good!" I said. "Trust me, dude. Order something. You'll like it."

"How can you eat this kind of food? It's so bad for you. No wonder you're fat."

"I'MNOTFATSHUTUP … hmm, should I get the Homemade Chicken 'N Dumplings, or the Farm Raised Catfish Fillet? Ooh, the Lemon Pepper Grilled Rainbow Trout looks good too. OH SHIT SON — I gotta get me the Half-Pound Hamburger Steak!" That had TWO things I liked. Hamburgers and steak.

"Half … _pound_?"

"Yeah, only half, so it's healthy."

The waiter came and we ordered our food. Then this awkward silence fell between us. It was the in between part of a dinner … between being distracted by the menu and the later part of being distracted by food. England did not look happy one bit.

"Cheer up, England," I said. "You want me to buy you something from the Country Store? I'll get you a fake hamster that runs around in a plastic ball. You'll love that. Be right back—"

"Don't," he huffed, still looking very annoyed.

"You wanna play giant checkers with me until our food comes?"

"No," he pouted.

"Well, jeez! You said you wanted to talk, so talk! I'm trying and you're totally leaving me hanging here."

"How am I supposed to be happy?" he bitched. "You brought me to damn _Cracker Barrel_ on Valentine's Day, you wore _sweatpants _here, yet your fat rolls _still _hang over them, and you expect me to be a chipper little ray of GODDAMN SUNSHINE?"

"What's wrong with sweatpants? Jeans are uncomfortable."

"Ugh …"

Finally our food came and I was like yaaaay food :D England just ordered a sandwich. Like psssh, who comes to Cracker Barrel and just orders a sandwich? I got my Half-Pound Hamburger Steak which came with two country vegetables (I chose the country green beans and fried okra) (anything is good fried, I told you that) and corn muffins. Them corn muffins were especially good. I was nomming on them like crazy.

"Good lord," said England, looking at my food. "That's enough food for two or three people!"

Boy, these fat names were getting annoying. Whale, manatee, two or three people. They hurt my feelings :(

"Your restaurants have such ridiculous portion sizes," England continued to bitch. "Not just this one, any restaurant I go to here always brings an absurd amount of food."

"If it's called just a 'portion' size, it can't be but so big!" I said. "Besides, I can finish it. I'm gonna have the Double Chocolate Fudge Coca-Cola Cake for dessert too."

You getting hungry reading this?

England wasn't. He just huffed.

"Look, you're clearly upset," I said. "Why don't you go buy yourself something nice from Country Store on me. Some taffy or a remote control helicopter or a slide whistle."

"No."

I noticed England had barely eaten half his food. He was just kinda picking at it then.

"Well, you said you wanted to talk and catch up, right?" I asked. "Well, I'll start. Twinkies went out of business so I bought a fr — uh, frog. Yeeeeah, I bought a frog." Nice save. Didn't want him knowing about that fryer and how I've fried all my meals in it ever since I bought it. "His name is … Croaky. Anyway, I also bought some new sweatpants though I see you have noticed, thanks, and I learned the difference between krill and prawns." I paused. "Mmmyep. I think that's it." :I "What about you? What's been going on these past three months for ya?"

England took a long pause before replying. But finally he did. "Well, today I found out that I learned how to shave my balls without getting those little red bumps for nothing, as the person I anticipated having sex with ended up a fat fuck who eats so much cholesterol-laced shit for food that his arteries are probably so clogged that it's nearly impossible for enough blood to pass through them for him to achieve a damn ERECTION!"

I slurped my Coke. "How do you not get the little red bumps?"

"Let the shaving gel sit on there for at least ten minutes, shave with the grain, and apply moisturizer afterward."

I slurped again. "Good talk."

:I

X

"Aww, look at it go!"

I bought myself one of them Weazel Balls and it was currently rolling all around my living room. It really looked like a real weasel was rolling around with a ball on my carpet! SO COOL!

England didn't think so though. He crossed his arms and made a pouty face.

"Don't be mad, England," I said. "I offered to buy you one too but you said no! You have no one to blame but yourself."

"I can't believe you stopped at Subway on the way home, after we already had more than enough to eat."

"Hehe, it's so cute!" I was clearly distracted. "Awww — it bumped into the coffee table! Silly little weasel."

"And you ordered two subs," England continued bitching. "Then asked if I wanted anything too!"

"Why are you complaining? I offered to buy you a sub. Jeez, I just can't win with you."

"Why do you need TWO? !"

If you're wondering who normally pays for stuff and food bills and such in a gay relationship, well you and me both, bro. I mean, in the beginning, I assumed it was whoever topped. But learned the hard way that wasn't true one night after I foot (footed? What the hell is the past tense of that?) the bill for us both after a nice, delicious meal at Chick-Fil-A only to be thrown on the couch and totally dominated by England when we got home. Kinda ironic too, because Chick-Fil-A hates gay sex. They made an ad campaign out of it.

Anyway, England was starting to get on my nerves. I was doing everything right and he was being a real Negative Nancy. What does he want from me? I took him out to dinner, PAID, tried to have a nice conversation, and totally did not become obese. What was I doing wrong? :/

"Hey, let's exchange gifts," I said excitedly. Maybe that would cheer him up!

Yep, his scowl disappeared! Okay, he still wasn't exactly smiling, but it's a start. "Fine. I'll be right back."

"Hehe, me too."

We both returned moments later, each holding a box. Mine was square and flat and kinda big and it was a pizza box.

"Ta-daaaa!" I said as I opened it. "Happy Valentine's!" :D

England made an unimpressed face like Makayla Maroney :/ That meme will never get old even though I'm sure it kills that girl inside that she only got silver even though we know she's the best vaulter evar. GO TEAM USA!

"A pizza?" England asked like it wasn't an awesome thing even though it was. "You got me a _pizza_ for Valentine's Day?"

"It's a heart-shaped pizza!" I explained. "From Papa John's!"

I don't know if you all heard the good news, but Papa John's has been offering heart-shaped pizza in honor of Valentine's Day! They have commercials encouraging people to buy them for Valentine's dinner and everything. Once again, I am not making this shit up. At first I thought that was kinda stupid, but the commercial made it sound ~SOOO ROMANTIC~ Plus it's pizza and everybody loves pizza, of course! It's the perfect gift! :D

"What a rubbish gift," said England.

D:

"I thought it was sweet …" I slowly closed the box. "I mean, it's heart-shaped …"

I bet if I had made a heart-shaped SCONE England would have pissed himself with joy. He would have been like ~OHHH AMERICA SCONES ARE MY FAVOURITE WITH A U, OH BLOODY TAKE ME NOW YOU ROMANTIC SEXUAL GIT BEAST~ and I would have been like okey. Damn! Totally should have done that.

England looked away nervously. "I hesitate to give you your gift."

"Why?"

"I bought it before … certain circumstances." He motioned to my bod. "Before you became morbidly obese."

"Oh so now it's MORBIDLY obese?"

He sighed and held out the gift. "Oh, might as well. Can't do much more damage than has already been done."

"GEE THANKS HOW ROMANTIC."

I opened up the gift. I held up what it was. It was edible underwear.

"I-it's edible underwear," England said, still refusing to look at me. "I bought them in hopes you would … um … eat them off of me."

"HAHA! Awesome!" I said happily. "Why would you not wanna give this to me?"

"Because you're fat enough as it is!"

"Oh, please. How many calories can be in a pair of underwear? Plus it's a thong, I mean there's not a whole lot there." I liked that it was a thong because then I could sing the Thong Song. ~Thong th th th thong!~ Such meaningful lyrics.

By the way, if you're wondering, I looked, and it was seventy calories. That's not bad at all! Those Nabisco one hundred calorie packs have moar than that! Because they have one hundred.

"If I'd have known how fat you'd gotten, I would have gotten you equipment like weights or exercise tapes or a tapeworm as a gift instead."

"DUDE! Enough with the fat jokes, jeez! I'M NOT FAT!" And I was gonna prove it. While England was still standing there being a meanie, I scooped him up and lifted him high above my head. "WHO NEEDS WEIGHTS NOW HUH? !"

"Shit, put me down!" whined England, all panicky and squirming. "You're gonna drop me!"

"No, I'm not, because I'm not fat. These extra few pounds are nothing but muscle! If I was obese how could I lift you like this?"

"You're about to drop me! Your arms are trembling from the weight!"

"No, they are trembling from excitement," I said. "But I'm just gonna lower you back down right quick now." I lowered him to my chest, so that I was holding him bridal style. It was very romantic, don't you worry. "Shall we go into the bedroom now?" I asked him sexually.

England did not look like he liked being held like that. "I seriously doubt you could perform, obese as you are."

"Don't underestimate me," I said with a wink ;) But then, "Oh, and I'm not obese."

Hasn't England ever watched shitty daytime TV? Those people on Jerry Springer and Maury and Trisha are obese, and they still pop out babies like crotch Pez dispensers. It can be done. (Not that it matters anyway because it's just like five pounds tops, you guys. Y'all believe me.)

England wasn't scowling anymore. He was frowning :( He refused to look at me as he said, "I'm not as attracted to you like this …"

"WHA—"

"And I seriously doubt you have the endurance for it anyway."

"B-b-but I'm not obese! Muscle weighs more than fat!" Ask Dr. Oz, he knows this crap.

But England wasn't listening to me. "Though … I suppose it might work … if I top …"

After _I_ paid for dinner? ! AND fourth meal? ! (Subway.) NUH UH.

"No, England," I said. "I'm gonna prove it to you! I'm just as good as I always was! YOU'LL SEE!"

England didn't look very happy about it. But he sighed and said, "Fine. If it was any other night, I'd turn your fat arse down. But it's Valentine's Day. The most romantic day of all. And I had my heart set on getting laid tonight."

"Uh … that's the spirit."

So I carried England to the bedroom. I kicked that Weazel Ball along the way too. Hehe, I just loved to watch it roll around!

"Knock that off," said England.

"Okay." :(

X

England made me wait for him in the bedroom. He went to the bathroom. I used the opportunity to hide my mumus. LOOK DON'T JUDGE. You ever wear a mumu? They are comfy as fuck. You don't have to be obese to wear one, okay? But I hid mine anyway because I knew England would just bitch.

I also threw away some trash leftover from food that was in my room. You know, stuff like Taco Bell wrappers and empty boxes of NON-heart-shaped pizza and empty bags of Chicken and Waffles Lays Potato Chips (new flavor, it's really good). I didn't want England to see that either. Then I saw something.

"Oh, hehe! You silly weasel! You followed me in here anyway!" That thing was so CUTE!

"Squeak squeak."

Wait a minute :I That Weazel Ball can't make a noise …

OH SHIT THAT WAS A RAT! D: An actual factual rat! In my BEDROOM! UGH!

"Gross!" I said as I picked it up by the tail. And chucked it out the WINDOW! How the hell did a rat get into my room? Don't say it was all the leftover food in my room. There was no leftover food. I ate it ALL.

(All right, I guess there were crumbs and stuff left …)

I quickly shut the window. When I heard the bathroom door open behind me, I closed the blinds too. "Uh, just closing the blinds so the neighbors don't spy on us having sex!" I said totally nonchalantly. I was so smooth — he'd never expect that I was throwing away a rat, hehe.

"Like there's a line to see your fat arse," bitched England.

I turned around to see he wasn't wearing anything but the edible underwear. Eatin' britches, as Larry the Cable Guy calls them. He is BFF's with Jeff Foxworthy. But anyway, England wasn't wearing anything but dat candy thong and socks.

"Thong th th th thong~!" I sung.

"Get on the bed," England commanded.

"Okey." I obeyed and sat on it.

"Take off your shirt."

"Okey." So I took off my shirt.

England made a face. A grossed out one. "Ugh. Look how many rolls you have."

"More than a bakery? Augh, damnit, you just made me burn myself." Ouch, dude :(

"Second thought, put your shirt back on."

"Aw, come on!"

"Or let's turn off the lights. And I don't mean make it dim, I mean _all_ of them. Pitch black."

"NO! Then how will I see what I'm doing?"

England used to love my hot bod. It totally turned him on. Today wasn't the first day he's asked for naked pics of me! He's done it before because he missed it so much all the way across the Atlantic. They never got there though because my STUPID IPHONE made me screw it up. You ever send something to the wrong person, because you selected the wrong person in the messages section, or you select them from your contacts and accidentally select one person below or above them on the list? I know I'm not the only one. Well, I did that and I don't have many E's in my phone but Estonia was very surprised at the text I sent him that day, I'll tell ya that.

But now England doesn't seem to want my hot bod. He wants me to cover it. With the awesome sweatshirt I got in the Country Store at Cracker Barrel. I mean, I like the shirt, but come on :(

"Just take off your trousers," England demanded.

"Jeez, I'm not even hard yet! Can't we have a little foreplay?" I patted the space next to me on the bed. "Come onnn. Hop on. I'll eat that eatable underwear off of you."

While he didn't look too thrilled about it, England did as I asked. He got on the bed, and then lay back, against the pillows near the headboard.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked me.

"No, but how hard can it be? I've eaten all kinds of stuff. I'm sure I can handle a candy thong."

It looked like a Fruit Roll Up. Like, that's what the material of the edible underwear looked like. It was red so I assumed it was strawberry. Or cherry. Maybe raspberry. Watermelon? Nah, that would be pink. I'm pretty good with identifying artificial coloring, not to brag or anything. I eat my share of red dye #40 and #5 and #3 … pretty much all of them, really. One is made from crushed up bugs. I shit you not.

"It's not the actual eating. But _how_ you do it … it's supposed to be arousing."

"Don't you worry, England. I'll do it sexy."

England, still lying back against the pillows, spread his legs for me. I crawled between them.

"You'd better."

I licked my lips, trying to be sexy. Then I leaned down between England's legs, and licked up the front part of the thong. The bit covering his junk. STRAWBERRY. I knew it.

I did it again. I dragged my tongue along that Fruit Roll Up, and felt his cock twitch beneath it. He was starting to get hard.

OH NO WAIT! Not a Fruit Roll Up! FRUIT BY THE FOOT! Yessss … it was like a Fruit by the Foot, as I have described earlier. I got those names confused. Because you do ROLL UP Fruit by the Foot too. So yeah, the eatin' britches were like Fruit by the Foot, except moar like Fruit by like 5 or So Inches LOL. Because England wasn't packing a whole foot, I mean, come on, haha. No one does except like … crazy porn stars.

Of course, he wasn't at five or so inches yet. But he was getting there the more I licked!

England squirmed under me. "Start eating it."

Hehe. England wanted me to eat it so there would be nothing between my tongue and his cock. Just bare skin. Well, this was the first time in a while England actually seemed happy with me, so of course I obliged!

NOMNOMNOM

"What the hell? !"

That was England bitching again. A real shocker -_-

"You don't eat the whole thing at ONCE!"

I swallowed (the whole thing in one gulp.) "But … you said to eat it."

"I said _start_ eating it."

"I started _and_ I finished!"

"You were supposed to do it slowly, sensually — you know, _tease_ me. Turn me on. It's supposed to be erotic. You don't just gulp it down all at once!"

"Well, excuuuuuse me."

It's not like these things came with instructions manuals! I just ate it like I eat other foods! You know, scarfing them down! Just stuff it all in your face! Like Cookie Monster does with cookies! He goes NOMNOMNOM and those cookies are gone in like seconds! That's how you're supposed to eat everything. SCARF IT.

"Just go get the lube and let's get this over with already," sighed England.

"BAM! Already taken care of." I pointed to my nightstand.

"Crisco? Ugh …" There was a big jug of Crisco on the nightstand, if that wasn't implied.

"Whaaat? Crisco works great as lube! People have been using that for lube since Crisco came out! Probably even more than what you're supposed to use it for! Not that I use it for that too." Wow, I'm smooth. England still has no idea I got that fryer!

"Fine. But don't blame me for the oil stains you'll get on your bed."

Oh, silly England. There's already plenty of oil stains in my bed. I eat in my bed.

So I kicked off my shoes and shimmied out of my sweatpants. England glanced away, like he didn't enjoy watching for some reason. Normally he watches with eager, horny eyes so that hurt my feelings :(

"It's Valentine's Day …" I heard him mutter to himself. "It's better than nothing …"

:(

"All right." I crawled back to him and sat on my knees. "I'm all naked now."

England finally looked at me. And stared. "Well?" he asked. "Where's your prick?"

"Hmm?" I looked down. You couldn't see my penis. "Oh." I lifted up a big fat roll. "Uhh … there it is."

Don't worry, I found it.

"Are you going to hold that up the entire time we have sex?"

"Nooo, don't be silly. Once I'm horizontal, gravity will do that job for me — I mean, there's nothing to worry about because I'm not fat anyway! Duh!"

England rolled his eyes. "Oh, get this over with. Grease me up with Crisco like I'm a stick of butter."

He said that sarcastically but that was actually kind of a turn on. It's a weird feeling for your mouth to water and your cock to twitch at the exact same time!

So I greased up my hand with the Crisco. Man, that stuff is slick! It made my hand all shiny. It was weird to use it this way when I've been using it for so long to deep fry anything and everything — OH dough was another thing I fried. I forgot to mention that one earlier. I made my own elephant ears. Covered them in confectionary sugar. MMM.

Speaking of MMM, I slid a greasy, Crisco-y finger inside of England.

"Even your fingers feel fatter," bitched England. "Is that why you type like an idiot on your mobile? Your fingers are too fat for the buttons?"

"No, you know I texted like that even before – I mean—"

"Oh, that's right. You did."

I slid another finger in. "You would like that anyway though, right?" I teased. "Fatter fingers? So they're thicker and we both know you like it thick."

Girth is moar important than length. Remember that, boys and girls ;)

"Please don't try to turn me on with your greasy, oily sausage nubs for fingers, America."

:/

"I thought y'all called it bangers and mash."

I pulled my bangers out of England's mash. He felt slick enough down there. Crisco does a really great job with that. It's very useful! You can use it over and over again, and it only works even better the more times you do! (For cooking I mean. Obviously you don't use the same Crisco for lube over and over.) (It doesn't work better the more you use it.) (Because it turns into the frothy mixture that is known as Santorum when you're done.)

It was time for sex. So I crawled on top of England.

But as soon as I did, England shoved me.

"Idiot!" he shouted. "Don't get on me like that! You're going to crush me!"

Ohhh, I knew this would happen. Such a cliché! 'Oh, you're fat, so you'll crush someone during sex, hahaha' – NO. That is not necessarily true. I mean, when you get on top of someone, you don't just let all your weight hang on them. I mean, even a normal sized person (not that I'm above normal) would be at least another hundred or so pounds on top, and that's enough to squish someone. But it doesn't because you bear most of your own weight, ya know?

I just kinda … forgot to when I climbed on though.

"Oop — sorry!" I said. I resituated myself so that I was straddled over him proper. Now most of my weight was on my own knees on either side of him, and one arm beside his head. "There, better?"

"I can still feel your fat hanging down and touching me, but I suppose so."

So our bellies touched. WHOOPEDY DO! A lot moar of our body parts were about to touch. Well, a couple. (My cock and his asshole.)

So I put my cock in his asshole. After I found it again. It's a sneaky little thing! (But not too little, of course.)

England watched it disappear inside him. "It looks smaller than it used to," he said. "I know it's not … but in comparison to how big your body's become, it looks that way."

This was the worst pillow talk evar. I started to thrust, but all he did was keep complaining.

"Though I suppose I should just be happy you could get an erection at all," he continued. "Obesity is tied with impotence, you know."

You know what else causes impotence? Constant bitching, OMG. If anything was gonna make me go soft it would be England's nonstop whining, jeez.

"Sh … shut up," I panted, humping. "I'm … I'm trying to concentrate."

"Are you winded already?" England sounded surprised. "Please tell me you're not … we've barely started …"

"It's … a … lot … of … work …" Between each word I had to breathe. Look, don't you judge me. We all breathe. I bet you're breathing right now, you hypocrite! (Now you're aware of your own breathing and it's weird, isn't it?)

"For less than a minute of thrusting?" scoffed England. "I hardly think so. I knew you were too out of shape to do this."

"No … no … I can … do …" PANT PANT PANT. I was like a dog baking in the sun. Damnit now I want a hot dog. " … iiiiiitttt …"

"You're not even going that fast!"

Oh, England wants it fast, huh? He wants it rough, hmm? I'd show him. I'm not fat and I totally got this. I was gonna rock his socks off. (He always wears them during sex because he says his feet get cold.)

So I sped up. My pace was really fast! I got like ten or eleven good thrusts in, really quick, hard ones. But then I was way out of breath to continue. I stopped completely. I was still inside him, but I didn't move. "Just … gimme a second …" I panted.

"What the hell are you doing …"

You know when you really exert yourself you get like a cramp in your side and your throat feels like it's gonna close up? It felt like that. So I just took a minute to regain my strength. Or two or three.

"Damn it!" exclaimed England. "Roll over! I'm taking over."

"NO! I got this. I … I think I'm good now."

I did it again! About a dozen thrusts! And then, collapsed. That time on England. I just couldn't hold myself up anymore. My arms and legs were tired from doing that.

"Get your fat arse off of me!" England shoved me off.

I rolled to the side, beside him. "Ugghh … just gimme a minute … I'll be good … when I … catch my breath …"

England sat up. "I'm not putting up with this stop-and-go bullshit. Roll over!"

"Ohhh …" I moaned. "I'm so sooooore …"

"You think you're sore now, just wait until I'm done with you. You'll be walking funny tomorrow, and not because you're wobbling from being so fat."

"Noooo, I meant my _muscles_ are sore." Humping is quite the workout! A lot of people don't realize it. It burns a lot of calories. I probably already worked off that edible underwear. That definitely felt like at least seventy calories worth of work to me.

I had to do this. I couldn't give up. If Honey Boo Boo's obese mom had sex to conceive that girl, I could do it too. Not that I was as fat as her or anything.

I got back up. "Lay … lay back down …" I panted, motioning for England to do so. "I'm gonna …" PANT PANT "… rock …" PANT PANT "… your world."

"You might rock this bed and break it from your weight." He said that but he laid back down for me anyway.

I sank my cock deep inside him again. Okay. Sticking it in was the easy part. Now I just gotta manage to thrust without becoming so winded, and I got this.

I started humping again. Slowly, building it up, yeeeah. See? I could handle this. I was just pushing myself too much at once before. If I go at a nice, easy pace, it ain't so bad.

England wiped his chest and then held out his hand for me to see. It was wet. "You're dripping sweat on me."

"Everybody …" PANT PANT "… sweats …" PANT PANT "… during sex."

England wiped even more of my sweat off of him. It was so much he had to wipe it off on the sheets. "Not like this."

I could feel it running down me too. All over my body. Especially down my face. My hair was wet from it! And I also especially felt it on my balls. Nothing worse than schweaty balls. And I didn't shave my balls like England did so it was kinda just stuck there in a warm damp forest of pubes.

OH NO WAIT — you know what's the WORST? Sweating in your ass crack. I had that going on too. It makes like swamp ass. I felt drops of sweat beading there and just running down my ass crack. Very unpleasant.

"Ugh, I'm gonna need a shower after this," said England.

"Yeah … me too." I never did wash my hands after picking up that rat. And I fingered England with the same hand … hmm … "Do you wanna shower … together … for some more … sexy time?"

"I'm fairly certain you're going to be at best passed out from the most exertion you've had in months, or worst, dead from a heart attack after this."

What a buzzkill. I mean, I was hanging in there! Sure, I was breathing and wheezing like an asthmatic but STILL! I hadn't stopped yet.

"Go faster," England demanded. He is very demandy in the bedroom.

"I dunno …" PANT PANT "… if I can …"

"This is too slow. It'll take forever for me to get off like this. Speed up."

Isn't slow sex GOOD sometimes? You know, take your time, savor it, be all romantic and shit. I mean, it's not very romantic if I go faster and pass out.

"I can't," I wheezed.

"Because you're so out of shape, you fat arse. Now roll over and let me show you how it's done."

"NOOOOO!" I whined. It was hard to hump through that whine, but I did it. Slowly and laboredly. That's a word. "I'm not fat! Stop saying I am!"

"Goddamnit!" he shouted. "You're eating RIGHT NOW!"

So I started munching on one of them Subway subs while I was banging him. So what? I mean, I didn't buy them just so they can sit in the bag and rot, did I? No, I bought them to enjoy. And I always enjoy five dolla, five dolla footloooongs~

"So?" I asked, mouth full of sub.

"SO? ! So get that shit out of your mouth!" You wouldn't believe what England did next. He slapped my sub right out of my hand!

"HEY!"

It fell onto the sheets next to us. I stopped thrusting so that I could grab it.

"Ohh, my poor little sub! You — wait a minute." I looked at that sub closer. Something … wasn't right. Something was off. Then I realized. This wasn't a footlong at all! It looked like it was only ELEVEN inches! :O

Did you all hear about this controversy? Well, regardless, I'm gonna fill you in anyway. You see, this hero took a ruler to Subway, because everybody does that apparently, and when he got his sub, he measured it. And guess what. His 'footlong' was only eleven inches! So he did what any hero would do, and took a picture of it. And put it online. Where it became an INTERNET SENSATION! It was in the news and everything. And everybody knew about Subway and their cheating ways. Denying all us good sub-loving folk our deserved inch of sub.

"This is only eleven inches!" I said, holding it up to a ruler. Don't ask me why I have a ruler in my bed. It's not like I measure my own junk for reference. By the way, it's weird to talk while your cock is in someone but you're not moving. Just thought I'd mention that. "I ordered and paid for a FOOTLONG! This is an outrage!"

"It's only an inch," scoffed England. "Like you need it anyway."

"_Only an inch?_ !" DID MY EARS DECEIVE ME? "Don't you know how important an inch is? ! You of all people should know how important an inch is!"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, if my cock was eight inches, instead of seven inches, you would FEEL that inch difference, am I right?"

"Ha — you _wish_ your cock was seven inches. More like five and a half … _maybe_ six on a good day."

"SHUT UP ENGLAND WHAT DO YOU KNOW? You don't even use our system of measurements. You use stupid centipedes."

England had a serious face. "You know what? I've had enough of this."

Suddenly, England knocked away the other sub I was slowly raising to my mouth to take a bite of. "Dude!"

Then he pushed me! Yeah, like he shoved me! Really roughly! My cock flopped out of him. And like an uncoordinated walrus, I toppled over.

"OOF—"

"Shut up," snapped England. "I'm in control now."

"What are you doing? !" I asked. I was very worried. If he was gonna top, I didn't want him to see the major case of swamp ass I had going on down there.

He climbed on top of me. As he crawled over my body, his cock brushed against my fat rolls. It was very erotic and weird. "Shhh."

I didn't have a choice, because he pushed two fingers into my mouth. Pretty roughly, too.

"You've shoved a lot of things in here recently, haven't you?" England's tone suddenly became weird. It kinda creeped me out. "Anything you can get your hands on. That's why you're a giant mass of blubber. You can't control yourself."

"Nnn—" I tried to say something, but England's fingers were still in my mouth. He pressed them against my tongue when I tried to speak, holding it down so I couldn't.

"You have an oral fixation," England continued. "You have to have something in your mouth. You crave it. Your mouth feels lonely unless something is crammed in there. Isn't that right, you little oral slut?"

"NNNN!"

"Ha … I said 'little.' There's nothing little about you. Except your self-control, of course."

England pulled his fingers from my mouth. PHEW! Now I could breathe better. It's hard to just breathe out of your nose when you're out of breath from a workout (a couple minutes of sex.) But I couldn't breathe like that for very long, because England's fingers were quickly replaced with his cock.

He eased it in, holding it by the base, and my eyes widened as I watch inch after inch slide in. I didn't gag. I couldn't believe it. I should have gagged. But he got his entire cock in there in seconds, and I didn't even flinch.

England grunted when he was all the way in. A good, pleased grunt.

"MMMPPH!" I yelped.

"It doesn't surprise me at all that you don't have a gag reflex anymore. I'm sure you lost it whilst shoveling all that garbage you call food into your gullet, like that butter stick you took so well earlier."

England started thrusting into my throat. This was no blowjob. I wasn't even doing anything. He was doing it all. He was literally just fucking my face. I just laid there, held my mouth open, and took it.

:'D

"I should have done this from the start."

England was clearly enjoying this. Not long after he started thrusting into my throat, he started groaning. He was really going at it too. Much faster than I had done to him. I'm really glad he shaved his balls because as hard and deep as he was slamming himself into me, I would have gotten a face full of pubes every time. But he was as smooth as a Fruit Roll Up.

This was all well and good for him and _his_ balls, but _mine_ were starting to get a bit blue. I mean, I was left hanging! No handy or nothing! I needed to be touched! And it was way too much effort to reach down there and take care of it myself. I squirmed anxiously under him, wanting so bad to get off, or get SOMETHING. Some kind of friction, anything!

Suddenly, England wrenched his cock out by pulling my head back by my hair. I gasped for air.

"Admit you're fat and I'll let you cum."

I panted, still never having caught my breath. "Wha? I'm not fat!"

"You are." He tightened his grip on my hair. It HURT. "Say it."

"NO!"

He pulled even harder. "Fucking it say it!"

"NOOOOO — _ack!_"

He shoved his cock back down my throat. And started fucking my face again.

"You know …" he mused, in between breaths. "I'm actually starting to like the new you, believe it or not. You've never let me do this to you before. Not many people could withstand such rough treatment."

I would have replied, but once again. Cock down the throat.

So England kept talking. "But you can. I believe when I think about you like this, this _fat,_ and _obese_, I'm going to think of this moment. How deep I am in your throat. How you don't even seem to mind. How I'm slamming myself so hard down inside you that I can feel your uvula slide against my cock, and it doesn't even make you gag or choke in the slightest. How my balls slap against your chin so roughly it's actually a little painful for me, but I don't care, because being inside your hot, tight throat just feels too good."

HOW THE HELL DOES ENGLAND TALK DURING SEX? ! I could barely get two words out without panting! Skinny bitch …

"You know what else it makes me think about?" England was still talking. "How when you're this obese, you really can't perform, at least not well enough to get me off. Perhaps even yourself. So we both know what that means. Until you drop this weight, I'm going to top every time we have sex. I'm going to be in total control. I could ride you, of course, but I'm not. Because then what would be your motivation to get off your arse and lose the weight?"

"MMMPH? !" was the shocked, inquisitive sound I made.

"That's right. Until you lose weight, I'm topping you every time. And I'm not going to be gentle."

:O

"We don't have much of a choice, hmm?" He smirked down at me. "You can't keep up like this. I have to do all the work."

A few seconds later and I did actually finally choke. Because England came, and it went down my throat. I gagged and tried to sit up, but England put a hand on me, and kept pumping himself in me a couple more times, moaning as he emptied himself inside me. Until finally he was done, and he pulled out.

I swallowed it down in one big gulp.

"Oh my god," I said quickly, sitting up in a panic. "I'll drop the weight! Like ASAP! I admit it — I did gain a few pounds. All right, a lot — but it ends today! I'll get rid of my fryer and stop eating out at places like Cracker Barrel and Subway all the time even though Jared did lose a lot of weight there and I'll join Weight Watchers even though that's a lot of math and I hate math and — ngggh …" I sorta just trailed off into a moan. Because England grabbed my cock and started stroking it.

"I told you I'd let you cum when you admitted it, love."

I arched, it felt so good. "Oh God. Don't stop."

"I won't." True to his word, he kept pumping.

"I-I meant what I said though. I'm gonna lose the weight."

"All right. And I'll enjoy topping every time until you do."

"Well, h-hopefully it won't be that … mmn … long."

"Shhh, don't you worry about that. Why don't you eat some more of your sub whilst I finish you off? Then you can have that heart-shaped pizza. Then we'll go out for dessert. I can order more edible underwear, too."

"What the … hey, I see what you're doing!"

"Heh …"

As I came into England's hand, I knew with him constantly trying to feed me like that, I would not lose this weight for a while. Oh, well. At least I could still eat all the homemade Twinkies I want as I got my ass pounded for months.

Happy Valentine's to me :'D

(The end!)


End file.
